SSC: The Rose

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: The Rose

(***, M/F, Intense, Cons spanking, anal)

A submissive gets punished with the Rose. (Approximately 487 words. Originally published 1998-06.)

Raul smacks my ass again and again with the full weight of his palm. I hiss at the sting and wiggle, but he holds me firmly. This was a most thorough spanking, I reflected. I hadn't been so well punished in months.

When it was finally over I was a blubbering mess. Tears had distorted my makeup and I'd kicked off my panties. I stood tentatively, clad only in my T-shirt, and waited for instructions. It was all I could not to reach back and grasp my blazing rear. I desperately wanted to rub some comfort into those sore cheeks, but I knew from past experience the terrible penalty that would exact.

"To the corner," ordered Raul. "Prepare for the Rose."

Terror struck my heart and my knees half-buckled. "God, no! Please, not the Rose! I'll be good. I'm really, really, really sorry. I swear I won't use your car ever again! I promise!"

"Are you going to obey or do you need to go over my lap again?"

Gulping and shuddering, I headed for the corner. I put my arms up, elbows out, clasping my fingers behind my head in the required position. This T-shirt was usually one of my favorites because it left my belly exposed, but now I resented it, for my naked buttocks were totally uncovered.

I waited while Raul went to cut a rose from the garden. This was one of the punishments I dreaded. My devious husband had thought it up years ago, and now, when he thought I'd been especially naughty, I got the Rose.

In minutes Raul is back, a large red rose with a twelve-inch stem in his hand. I watch him approach me out of the corner of my eye. He shows it to me. I can see the needle-sharp thorns. Of course he hasn't stripped the leaves and branches off -- that is part of his strategy.

As I suck in my breath and wince, he begins the process of forcing the rose between my ass cheeks. His touch against my fiery bottom extracts a slight gasp from me. His strong hands feels good and yet my skin is so tender it brings fresh tears to my eyes.

His fingers spread my cheeks and plunge the rose into the gap. Thorns scrape at my flesh. I grit my teeth and try not to wiggle. Wiggling digs the thorns in. He wedges the rose in tightly, making sure the entire length of the stem is well-implanted.

"An hour," he says. I'm left alone.

I can't move -- I can scarcely breathe. Any movement at all draws out the prickly nature of the rose. My cheeks are burning from my spanking and I'd swear there's a thorn nudging at my asshole. Of course, if I drop the rose, I'm dead. I shudder. Oh God, an hour to wait like this for my next spanking!

The End